Day 712, June 14, 2022
Don’t Go In the Water
The deer break the surface of the tall grass
like seals on the Atlantic sea shore.
Little playful wiggles of the head,
how good it must feel
to be embraced in the dewey morning grass.
A green heron alights on a spindly tree
as if blown there
and together they jostle for space,
a lookout on the crow’s nest,
an acrobat on a wire.
And a moment still,
a great black bear swims in languid strides
stops in the front yard and looks at me.
Its brown snout.
Those dark uncurious eyes.
A dog is barking and a man yells out a warning
in a Boston Irish accent.
Its arms make me think of elephants,
and I can imagine touching the hair,
a matted stringiness
like someone who has been sleeping out in the wild
for many days.
I think my hands would smell
after I touched him.
all through the day,
more than memory.